Manipulation and Vengeance

Disclaimer: All characters and locations herein are the property of Tamora Pierce. Plot and actual written words owned by me.

It was just a dream Delia had, one she'd known from the first would never come true. It was just a fantasy of switched roles, of voices soft as velvet, a dimly lit room, a feeling of power that she knew belonged to her. Yet this foolish fancy had been a companion through the years, no more injuring than her other fellows, and far more loyal.

She was a manipulator, she knew, and she used her beauty as a weapon. She was a weapon, his weapon, to be used at his behest against his many enemies. To be used by him, to follow his commands, adhere to his will. So she had done, for years. So, for years, she had dreamt of reversing their positions. Suddenly she would be the strong one, the power that gathers others to it so easily. He'd been so sure of her loyalty that he did not know she was the one stringing him along, manipulating him to her own surreptitious ends.

This was Delia's favorite daydream. All her artifices and convoluted machinations turned against the one who cultivated him. His eyes following her, enraptured, acceding into her service. Her words becoming reality at his hands; her lies truth. She saw herself standing tall, with him at her side. She imagined dark chambers, whispers in ears, words of sweet venom and persuasion.

In her mind she could make him do anything; gain anything she wanted through her control of him. Still, she wanted none of it, just the ability to acquire it, that power. And to watch him with that look in his eyes, that adoration, all for her. Vengeance was extracted in her dreams, and always rescinded once achieved. And tenderness was born, and intimacy. Two people having need for nothing but each other.

Delia dreamt, knowing it to be futile, time wasted on an impossibility, and knowing herself to be as much as ever under his thumb. She would never speak the truth to him; never throw her grievances in his face. Saying he had used her, had made her more weapon than woman, had cast her as a statue that could touch no one. That he had kept her close, tightly leashed, with one hand, and then pushed her away with the other. Keeping her from getting close to anyone else, yet not allowing her near him, either. Keeping her alone.